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of her parents’ attachment to each other, at their obvious, unmistakable joy in simply being around each other. Even then, Zenn was old enough to know these two people were more than mere husband and wife. They were best of friends; no, more than even friends. They were like a single person, with two independent personalities that somehow entered into a communication that only they shared.
    The winter Solstice celebration when Zenn was seven, for instance. Warra and Mai had promised her a big surprise. For weeks ahead of time, she’d begged and whined at both of them for clues, but all Mai would tell her is that “You’re getting a present you won’t be able to see, but one you’ll really, really like.”
    When the big night finally arrived, Zenn had been ushered into the calefactory meeting hall where Sister Hild had set up the scrubby little pine that served as that year’s Solstice tree. As Otha and Hild looked on with knowing smiles, Warra and Mai entered the room, her father ceremoniously carrying a large, wrapped box. He set it down before her. She saw immediately there were air-holes in the wrapping.
    “It’s alive. What is it?”
    “Open it and see,” her father said.
    “Or, open it and don’t see,” her mother added. Inside the wrapping was a carry cage. Zenn peered in through the wire door and saw… nothing.
    “It’s empty!” she said, on the verge of being severely disappointed. If this was a parental joke, it was a very poor one.
    “Oh? Is it?” Her mother said. “Open the door.”
    Zenn unlatched the cage door, and watched. Still nothing. Then, a section of the floor at her feet began to go strangely out of focus. A small, oblong area began to shimmer with colors – violet and cream. And the next second, an animal appeared. The little marsupial was about the size of a housecat, with pale, violet tiger stripes set against thick, cream-colored body fur. The head was round, with a double spray of long cheek whiskers on a fox-like muzzle, topped by comically large, lynx-tufted ears. It waved its long, ringed tail and looked up at Zenn with two large, golden-amber eyes.
    “A rikkaset!” Zenn squealed so loudly it made the animal fluff up its fur… and promptly disappear again.
    “You scared it, honey,” her mother said. “Just give her a moment or two, and she’ll unblend again.”
    “Come back.” Zenn tried to speak to the invisible animal calmly. “Please.”
    “I’m afraid she can’t hear you, Zenn,” her mother said. “She’s deaf. Has been since birth. The original owners didn’t think they wanted a deaf rikkaset. So they traded her to the ferry captain who traded her to us.”
    Zenn waited. A few seconds later, the animal reappeared. She bent and picked it up, holding it close, but not so close she’d scare it again.
    “I love it!” she said, her words muffled because she’d buried her face in the creature’s soft, delicately scented fur. “I mean, her. I love her.”
    She looked up to see her mother and father stealing a quick kiss… and sharing a look between them that, it seemed to Zenn, almost generated a sort of physical warmth out into the room.
    “What’s her name?” Zenn asked.
    “The captain didn’t say,” her mother said.
    “Guess that means it’s up to you,” her father said.
    “Katie,” she said then. “Her name will be Katie.” She held the rikkaset up in front of her. “Is that alright with you, Katie?”
    The big, golden eyes blinked at her.
    “Oh, sorry, you can’t hear me.” She turned to her parents again. “She’s beautiful. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
    “Well, she was your father’s idea,” her mother said, beaming at him. “He was the one who convinced me you were old enough to take care of a young rikkaset.”
    “Me?” her father protested. “Mai Scarlett, you wanted that animal from the moment you set eyes on her.” He turned to Zenn. “She really got it for herself as much as you, you know,” he said.